Mexican Oleanders are nodding
to the wind patrol all
four of them the wind smells
empty taxis. The birth of an extra car at the end
is the denomination of a loss of breath every
(atleast life is always winning
outside drugstore windows.)
The shafts of light on every street
have been persecuted
by the dust.
It has issued pores on their surface.
These shafts are set into
motion by men in majestic blue suits
who are sweeping the streets clear of daylight.
I lost my privilege
to a crow who is now
crossing the river (Yamuna) without